


Lightning Strikes Twice

by haey1



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Partying, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haey1/pseuds/haey1
Summary: Grantaire had worked very hard to forget Enjolras. Grantaire had his own life now, thank you very much. He owned his own tattoo parlor. He spent all his days making art and all his nights drinking pretentious wines. In his perfect little world, he’d practically forgotten he ever knew Enjolras.Unfortunately for him, the rest of the world had not forgotten about Enjolras. He’s the lead vocalist in l’ABC, one of the world’s most successful bands. His face was plastered on billboards and magazines. Grantaire couldn’t walk into a shop without hearing that voice serenading him and being hit with a flood of college memories: them sitting in their tiny dorm room, Enjolras writing songs just for the two of them. Now the whole world got to hear them, and Grantaire didn’t even have his number anymore.---Grantaire and Enjolras haven't spoken in years, so what will happen when Enjolras shows up at Grantaire's tattoo parlor?
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visitor

Grantaire had worked very hard to forget Enjolras. Grantaire had his own life now, thank you very much. He owned his own tattoo parlor. He spent all his days making art and all his nights drinking pretentious wines. In his perfect little world, he’d practically forgotten he ever knew Enjolras. 

Unfortunately for him, the rest of the world had not forgotten about Enjolras. He’s the lead vocalist in l’ABC, one of the world’s most successful bands. His face was plastered on billboards and magazines. Grantaire couldn’t walk into a shop without hearing that voice serenading him and being hit with a flood of college memories: them sitting in their tiny dorm room, Enjolras writing songs just for the two of them. Now the whole world got to hear them, and Grantaire didn’t even have his number anymore.

Not that Grantaire cared, because he didn’t. He didn’t care one bit. He would just prefer not to ever have to hear that angelic voice ever again. He certainly preferred not to hear it in his own fucking tattoo shop, so when he heard those starting chords and his heart jumped back half a decade, Grantaire stood up like he’s readying himself for battle.

“Gavroche, I gave you have three rules for the playlist. No country, no broadway, and absolutely no l’ABC,” Grantaire shouted as he walked out of his office and into the main waiting room. Gavroche wasn’t even supposed to be here on weeknights.

“Sorry about that,” a voice drunkenly slurred, it was definitely not Gavroche, “we just used the jukebox.” Grantaire looked at three drunken patrons who had just entered his shop to see none other than Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras, l’ABC themself. “I’m Courf...Courf,” Courfeyrac then turned to Conferred and put an arm around his shoulder, “I’m pretty drunk aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are,” Combeferre replied. “That’s Courfeyrac, I’m Combferre, and the lucky man who’s going to be tattooed tonight is this guy right here,” Combferre pushed Enjolras toward Grantaire. Grantaire said nothing about how they did not need any introductions, that they had all met years ago, that they were friends. Grantaire understood, his appearance had changed pretty dramatically and they seemed so drunk that they couldn’t have recognized their own mother.

Enjolras, however, recognized him immediately. He, too, was drunk, though not nearly as drunk as the other two. Grantaire knew Enjolras rarely drank. He didn’t like the loss of elegance or whatever bullshit excuse he had. He wondered what had changed. A lot probably. 

Enjolras looked supremely uncomfortable in the situation, especially as Courfeyrac would not stop talking loudly about the tattoo Enjolras just  _ had _ to get tonight. Enjolras remained silent, wearing a face like a brick wall.

“We don’t tattoo drunk clients,” Grantaire said firmly as if they were any other group of friends and not international celebrities. “If you still want the tattoo tomorrow morning, we’d be happy to do it. The shop opens at 1.”

Courfeyrac started groaning and proclaiming his supreme disappointment, but Enjolras spoke over him, “Could we talk about a design? For the morning, I mean?”

Courfeyrac started shouting and whooping quite loudly. Grantaire stared at him with vague annoyance and Enjolras picked up on the look, “Combferre, can you take Courfeyrac outside or maybe somewhere where he can go pass out?” 

“What? I’m fine! Look at me!” Courfeyrac said, and then proceeded to stumble his way through what was a very poor attempt at walking in a straight line. 

Combferre put his arm around him, “You’ll be fine, E?”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire and then back to them, “Yeah, I’m good. Just get him back to the hotel.”

When the door finally shut behind them, the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. Looking at Enjolras, Grantaire felt like he was back in college again and they were staying up way too late. But they weren’t in college anymore, and this man was as much a stranger as anybody. 

“So, you want a tattoo?” Grantaire said as he made his way behind the counter to get out a design book. “Anything in particular?”

“Yeah, I was thinking of… um…” Enjolras flipped through the book almost frantically. His movements lost their normal grace. His words came slowly as if he was putting real importance into not sounding drunk. He was not doing a very good job at it. “This one,” Enjolras said pointing to the page.

Grantaire looked down at it, “You want a tattoo that says, ‘God is Good’?” 

Enjolras looked down at it with panicked eyes. “What? No. Absolutely not. Definitely not.”

“Do you even want a tattoo, E?”

Enjolras looked up at the sound of his nickname on Grantaire’s lips, “Honestly, um, not really. The guys thought it was ridiculous that I don’t have a tattoo yet and I’m 25.”

“You do have a tattoo.” Grantaire knew he had a tattoo. Grantaire put it on him.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that.”

“They don’t?”

“It’s not like I go around showing people.” Grantaire tried not to act offended but he was. It wasn’t even a good tattoo, but it was his tattoo. Their tattoo. Enjolras sensed this, “It’s private. I don’t want to show it to just anybody.”

“Your bandmates seem like somebody to me.”

“Not like that.”

Grantaire had no idea what that was supposed to mean so he tried to refocus the conversation. Tattoos. “So are you getting one or not?”

“Probably not, sorry to waste your time.” Enjolras turned to leave but strangely, Grantaire didn’t want him to go.

“Don’t be. No one’s getting tattoos on a Wednesday night anyway.” Enjolras gave him a smile, the kind you’d see on TV interviews. “I know a bar down the street if you want to catch up.” Grantaire didn’t know if he actually wanted to know more about Enjolras or his amazingly beautiful life that he had no part of anymore, but he couldn’t let Enjolras just walk out the door again.

“I can’t really go to bars anymore because of all the…” Enjolras trailed off, embarrassed.

“The adoring fans?” Grantaire said mockingly. He assumed the voice of an annoying teen girl, “OMG is that  _ the  _ Enjolras? OMG Enjolras please can I get a photo? Please? I’m like your biggest fan.”

Enjolras gave him a light push, “Fuck off.”

“Is it really like that?”

“A bit,” Enjolras said sheepishly.

“I would say it sounds hard but I know you love it,” Grantaire teased.

“I don’t!” Grantaire gave him a look of disbelief, “Truly, it’s awful. I can’t go anywhere.”

“Sounds like a real hard life,” Grantarie said sarcastically.

“You know what,” Enjolras moved to say something impassioned but ended up almost tripping and catching himself on the counter. Grantaire simply laughed at him.

“You alright there, bud?”

“This isn’t fair. You’re supposed to be the drunk one out of the two of us.”

“Well, we can change that, you know.” Enjolras looked at him quizzically. “I have a bottle of Vodka in my office.”

“Of course you do,” Enjolras said but made a motion for him to get it. Grantaire obliged, going into his office and pulling out the bottle. He didn’t have any shot glasses so he just took a swig of it, felt that familiar burning sensation down his throat, and passed it to Enjolras, who took a much more tentative sip and pulled a face.

In that moment, it felt like they were right back in their dorm, sharing cheap liquor and hoping the RA doesn’t find out. The whole night had that feel - like they were getting away with something, that no time had ever passed between them. The vodka kept flowing and they kept telling stories of what had become of the people they went to college with, the worst tattoos Grantaire had ever seen, and Enjolras’ crazy stories from tour.

Before they even realized it was 2 am and it was much too late to still be at the shop. Enjolras was way too drunk to walk home alone, so they climbed the stairs to Grantaire’s apartment above his store. Grantaire took the couch and let Enjolras have the bed because, despite Enjolras’ protests that they could easily share, Grantaire still had mind enough to not let anything happen between them. Grantaire watched as Enjolras closed the bedroom door and tried not to think about the sinking feeling deep in his stomach. He laid down on the couch and fell asleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a pretty long-form thing. The setting was supposed to be 2020, but it obviously can't be because none of this could occur in a global pandemic. Anyway, just know they're 25 right now.


	2. Move In Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire meets his roommate.

_7 years earlier / 2012_

Grantaire had been at college for one entire week and he didn’t know if he could handle this for the next 4 years. Classes were hard, the frat boys were assholes, and worst of all was his roommate.

He knew they weren’t going to get along from the first time he saw him. His whole family showed up to move him in. His mother’s shoes alone were probably worth more than Grantaire’s entire wardrobe. His father had one hand typing out emails and the other doling out advice to his son. His son was setting up his side of the room, complete with a new laptop and bed spread. All motion stopped, however, when Grantaire entered the room.

Grantaire walked in, dropped his duffle bag on the empty bed, and stuck out his hand to the beautiful blonde-haired boy who looked like a living sculpture of Apollo, “I’m Grantaire, nice to meet you.”

The boy looked him up and down, stared at him for a moment. He took in his wild black hair and thrift store clothing, and coldly shook his hand, “Enjolras.” His mother looked at Grantaire with disgust. His father took a call into the hall. 

Grantaire thought that perhaps maybe the boy didn’t just look like a sculpture but that he was stone through and through. He got to unpacking when Enjolras’ mother spoke up, “Is your family moving you in, dear?” The dear was sweet in the way arsenic is sweet.

“No, just my friend Eponine,” he said and, as if on cue, Eponine entered the room, lugging one of Grantaire’s bags behind her. The look Enjolras’ mother had given Grantaire moments ago was nothing compared to the look she gave her. Between her half-shaven head and the tattoos trailing up her arms, it was every rich mother’s worst nightmare.

“Hey, fuckface,” she said to Grantaire as she dropped his stuff on the bed, “Next time you get to carry all the bags.” Enjolras’ mother looked like she might be sick.

“I thought I’d leave them to you as to not give in to the sexist practices of not letting women do the heavy lifting,” Grantaire replied.

“Yeah, sure that’s why,” she said as she rolled her eyes and started unpacking. At that moment, Gavroche ran in carrying pillows and an old blanket. He dropped them off and ran right back downstairs to grab more things.

Grantaire looked over and caught Enjolras staring at them like they were circus animals. At least his mother had been polite enough to act like they didn’t exist. “Why don’t we go get some lunch, dear, and let your roommate move in?” she said to him. Enjolras nodded and they walked promptly out the room with pristine posture and noses in the air. 

“Best of luck with that one,” Eponine said to him. 

Grantaire let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, it’ll be an interesting year for sure.”

Enjolras and Grantaire hadn’t spoken since that day, and at this point, it was a game between Eponine and him to see how long it would last. Grantaire had bet a month. She had bet two weeks. 

It wasn’t terrible, though. Grantaire just avoided his dorm. He spent a lot of time on the quad, in the library, or at the tattoo parlor, where he sort of worked. He had interned there all last year and intended to continue to do such until he got his tattooing license. It did mean one thing though, lots of late nights.

One such late night, Grantaire came back to his dorm hall to find a soft guitar strumming lazily drifting down his floor. He followed the sound and was surprised to hear it coming from none other than his own room. 

He stood just outside the door for a moment and heard not only guitar but a low singing. It was beautiful. The voice inside was smooth and silky with just the right amount of character to make you want to hear what comes next. It was Grantaire’s personal siren song and he was diving headfirst into the water.

Grantaire opened the door and the music stopped immediately. Enjolras moved to hide his guitar, almost like it was a secret. Grantaire looked around the room to see who could have been singing that gorgeous tune but he found it empty, save for the pretty boy who sat on the other bed wearing $300 sweatpants.

“Was that you singing?” Grantaire asked him and then cursed himself because he really was trying to win that bet with Eponine. 

Enjolras looked uncomfortable, but that could also just be his default facial expression around Grantaire. “Yeah.”

“You sounded good, man,” Grantaire said.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said dismissively and started packing up his guitar into its case. He very clearly wanted this conversation to be over. 

“I mean it. You’ve got a talent.”

Enjolras simply let out a short hum in response. Just enough to let Grantaire know he’s been heard but also enough to tell Grantaire that Enjolras is a massive asshole who wants nothing to do with him, even when Grantaire is paying him a compliment.

This sparked an idea for Grantaire: if Enjolras didn’t want to play nice, Grantaire would play dirty. He’d find all the little ways to annoy Enjolras or rile him up. If Grantarie was lucky, Enjolras would get so annoyed he’d have his father pay for a new apartment and Grantaire would get the room all to himself.

As Grantaire drifted off to sleep that night, he had one singular thought: maybe this year won’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they're 18 at this point. It's going to alternate time periods every chapter. Enjoy!


	3. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras leaves Grantaire a note. Grantaire listens to l'ABC.

_ 2019 _

Enjolras woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a pounding headache, a turning stomach, and a ringing cell phone. 

“Hello?” he mumbled.

“Dude, where the hell are you?” Courfeyrac practically yelled into the phone.

“I’m, uhh,” Enjolras looked around the bedroom he was in. Flashes of memories started fading in. He was in Grantaire’s room and upon further investigation of the bedroom: art supplies, oversized hoodies, and tattoo designs all haphazardly strewn across the floor, there was no other place he could have been. 

What Enjolras couldn’t figure out was if anything had happened between them or if he had just blacked out before he could remember. Maybe it was best if he didn’t tell his bandmates about this quite yet. “Do you guys need me?”

“Hmm, do we need the leading man of our band? I don’t know.” 

Enjolras checked the time, 8:34 am, “Soundcheck isn’t even until 1.”

“Look, man. You never came back last night. We were worried about you.”

Enjolras didn’t know whether to be touched or annoyed, “I just spent the night with an old friend.”

“Oh right, I forgot you went to college around here. How was the night?” Courfeyrac asked and Enjolras could hear the smirk through the phone.

“It’s not like that.” At least, he hoped it’s not like that, “I’m coming back to the hotel soon. Don’t die while I’m gone.” Enjolras then promptly hung up. 

He took off the covers and stood up, still in his jeans and t-shirt from last night which he guessed was a good sign. He found his shoes and jacket at the foot of the bed. He dressed himself and quietly opened the bedroom door. Sleeping on the couch in the living room was Grantaire. His hair was a mess of black curls and he let out a light snore. 

The sight of him passed out pulled hard on Enjolras’ heartstrings. He listened to those snores for years. Once thinking them annoying and then adorable and now all they do is hurt of missed opportunities. Peeking out from the blanket was Grantaire’s bare chest, which was significantly more tattooed than when he had last seen it. He used to know the meaning of every tattoo, even the ones Grantaire said were dumb, even the ones that Grantaire told everyone else were jokes but Enjolras knew the real reasons. He used to know everything about him.

Maybe it was the sight of Grantaire or maybe it was all the what if’s gnawing at him, but something seized over Enjolras at that moment and he went searching the kitchen for paper and a pencil. He found an old pen and a napkin and wrote out a note, leaving it clear on the kitchen counter. With that Enjolras grabbed his stuff and left.

-

Grantaire woke up feeling like he always does after he drinks: like shit and wondering why the fuck he slept on the couch. He walked into his bedroom and found it empty, which is when he remembered his visitor last night. Golden hair and rock star perfection, he was hard to forget, (though Lord knows Grantaire had tried for months after Enjolras left. There are some things even alcohol can’t drown).

Grantaire wandered into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast when he found the note. In freshman year, it would have taken him hours to decipher Enjolras’ hurried lettering. Today, he read it without thinking twice.

“Thanks for a fun night,” it read, “It was nice to catch up. Text me. - E.” At the bottom of the napkin was Enjolras’ number. Grantaire put it in his phone and for the next hour mulled over the perfect first text to send. Should he be funny? nice? professional? The optics were too much to handle so Grantaire decided not to text him at all. For once, he would get a turn at being the mysterious one.

-

Grantaire passed his next two weeks as normal. He never texted Enjolras, and that was just fine with him. He did, however, change one thing: Gavroche was now allowed to play l’ABC in the waiting room. Even with all the memories mixed up in it, Grantaire had to admit that they were still quite good. 

“Are you singing l’ABC?” Eponine asked him one day as they were hanging out at Grantaire’s apartment.

“What if I am?”

“You hate l’ABC.”

“Hate is a strong word, and I hear a lot of judgment coming from the girl who used to be in love with Justin Bieber.”

“I was thirteen! No one is responsible for the actions at thirteen.”

“Don’t let Gavroche hear you say that. I remember you holding him responsible for several things.”

Eponine rolled her eyes, “Those were literal crimes.”

“As is being in love with Justin Bieber.”

“Whatever. Did you listen to l’ABC’s new song?”

“Nah, should I?”

“Maybe. It’s entitled ‘R,’ might be worth checking out. Anyway, I have to go pick up Gavroche from his friend’s house.” Eponine then stood up and unceremoniously walked straight out of the apartment as if she had not just dropped a bomb on his doorstep.

Grantaire rushed to get to his laptop. He sat on his bed and typed in “E l’ABC” faster than he thought was humanly possible. The song came up right away. It already had 20 million views on Youtube. Grantaire pressed the link, set his speakers at full volume, and let Enjolras’ voice fill his room.

  
  


The song was good, quite good in fact. There’s a reason they’re famous. It was soft and intimate with guitar chords that strung out low and a voice that lifted high. The song sounded familiar, way too familiar to have just heard it on the radio. When he got to the chorus, he understood why.

_ I know this world wasn’t made for two, _

_ But for just one moment,  _

_ it was made for me and you. _

Enjolras had written this song for him years ago and would always play it at house shows or small bars, where Grantaire could stand closest to the stage. He only performed it when Grantaire was there and he only had eyes for Grantaire when he played it. Enjolras had written it by bouncing the lyrics off Grantaire so many times that Grantaire just took his notepad, and wrote it himself. Most of it was garbage, of course, but he kept those lines.

That was years ago, literal years, and Enjolras had never released it. Grantaire always assumed it was because he secretly didn’t like it or because it reminded him too much of their days together. But now it wasn’t their little song anymore, it was mass-produced and listened to by people all over the world. 

It felt like someone had taken Grantaire’s heart, nailed it to a canvas, and put it on display. 

Worst of all, it was named after him and the little nickname they had shared. They were EandR to everyone who had known them. What the hell was he trying to say when he split that up? Grantaire was angry and he knew he shouldn't have, but he pulled out his phone and texted Enjolras.

_ To Enjolras _

Grantaire: What the fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finds new ways to piss off Enjolras

_ 2012 _

As it turned out, annoying Enjolras was an incredibly easy task. There was not a thing on this earth that man did not find infuriating. Grantaire started by just hanging around the dorm more. He would do the typical annoying roommate things: playing loud music, talking on the phone, bringing friends over, but the real jackpot was when Grantaire found out about Enjolras’ politics.

Grantaire had had Eponine over and they were having their normal chaotic conversations, but when he ushered her out of the room, Enjolras was practically seething.

“I can’t believe you would let your friends make jokes about that.”

“About what?”

“About gay people! She called you gay as an insult which is not only incredibly homophobic but also speaks to the greater issues at hand of toxic masculinity.” Enjolras spoke as though he was empowered in front of a crowd of cheering protesters and not his roommate who he has never held a full conversation with.

Grantaire was going to have fun with this. With his other tactics, Grantaire might get an eye roll or a huff of anger, but this was so much better. 

“Well, I was acting kind of gay,” Grantaire said nonchalantly. He was acting gay because he was gay, but Enjolras did not seem to know that.

“And you think being gay is a bad thing?” Grantaire went to answer but Enjolras cut him off, “Do you think all gay people are going to hell? Because the Bible forbids many things that everyone else seems to ignore, like the mixing of two fabrics or planting two kinds of seed in the same field!”

Grantaire had a decision to make. This was the moment he could clear it up, that he was gay and an athiest and didn’t believe an ounce of the bullshit Enjolras was spilling out. On the other hand, this was the longest Enjolras had ever spoken to him and having his full attention was absolutely electric. He had never met someone who had ever made him feel so present and so alive from just one look. 

So Grantaire made the morally dubious decision to keep egging Enjolras on, if only to be under his attention again, “I find it hard to believe you’ve ever planted a thing in your life.”

“Excuse me?” Enjolras said. His look hardened to one of pure fury. Grantaire felt satisfied. If he knew one thing from high school, it’s that the rich kids hate being reminded that they’re rich.

“Your jacket is worth more than my entire closet. Look, Enj-”

“That’s not my name.”

“Oh, sorry. Would prince work better for you? How about Apollo? Since you want to act like a Greek God all the time,”  _ and look like one too _ , is what Grantaire didn’t say. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know exactly what it’s supposed to mean. Parading around here with your upturned nose, acting like you’re better than me and my friends with your brand new laptop and phone. You wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it hit you in the face.”

Grantaire knew he had gone too far, but he couldn’t help it. Not when Enjolras stood there as a living reminder of everything he was not: rich parents, nice clothes, and a body that screamed perfection. This was a boy who had the world handed to him a silver platter and Grantaire couldn’t help but at least try to burst his little bubble and bring his godly ego back to Earth.

“You’re just jealous of what I have,” Enjolras spat.

Grantaire laughed like Enjolras was the pinnacle of humor. “Of course, I’m jealous fuckwad. I would love to have your life, but honestly if it gave you that personality, you can keep it.” 

With that, Grantaire turned around and walked out the door. He felt like he had won, but it was an empty victory. He didn’t know when the teasing had turned personal. When he came back to the dorm that night, he nodded to Enjolras, who looked bewildered and vaguely pissed off but nodded back, and so they started their policy of non-apology.

-

Grantaire didn’t stop pissing Enjolras off though. Everyday, he tried a new thing for him. One time he came in with Chik-fil-a and then got upset when Enjolras refused a sandwich on moral grounds, (both as a gay rights activist and a vegan, which caused Grantaire to full on belly laugh and he hasn’t stopped calling Enjolras his crazy vegan roommate since.) Another time, Grantaire decided to try out vagrant Christianity followed by becoming a radical Wiccan, both of which Enjolras politely ignored.

They fell into a pattern really. Grantaire would come back from class with some outrageous statement to say, for example: what if we just killed all old people? Then Enjolras and him would get into a heated debate that would last for at least an hour until it got way too personal and one of them had to leave the room. 

The best part though, Enjolras had come to expect it. Grantaire wasn’t sure at first, but after two months of going on like this, (Grantaire had realized halfway through that Enjolras would never move out, he’s far too stubborn for that), Grantaire decided to play the ultimate power move: say nothing. Do nothing.

He walked in, put his stuff down, and sat on his bed. Enjolras had already turned to him, staring and waiting like he was readying himself for battle. Grantaire looked up at him and gave him a wide smile like he was genuinely happy to see his roommate. Enjolras only gave him a vaguely offended look in response. 

It took two minutes and 34 seconds before Enjolras broke the silence, “What’s your game plan here?”

Grantaire looked up at him nonchalantly, “What do you mean?”

“You’re not doing anything,” Enjolras said suspiciously.

“I’m doing my French homework.”

“No, I mean, every day you come in and say some ridiculous contradictory statement and we fight about it.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed,” Grantaire said with a smile.

“How have you not noticed? I have to make space in my schedule for our fights, that’s how much time they take up.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh because not only did Enjolras schedule out his days, but he scheduled time for them to argue. For the first time, it didn’t feel like he was laughing maliciously, “You actually do that? That’s adorable.”

Enjolras smiled a bit but then seemed to remember himself and resumed his defensive position, “It’s good for time management.”

“Sounds like it,” Grantaire said genuinely.

Enjolras returned to his computer but after a few more minutes he stood up, “It’s too quiet in here. I don’t like it.”

“You could play some music?” Grantaire suggested.

“No. There needs to be talking or screaming at each other. I scheduled this time to take my frustrations out and if I don’t do it now, it’s just going to simmer and I’m going to burst.”

Grantaire so badly wanted to make fun of him for this but he promised himself that he’d be nice today, “What are you frustrated about?”

“My parents were…” Enjolras made a motion that represented both craziness and his dislike talking about it, “Can you just please say something stupid so we can fight about it?” Enjolras had his hands clutched at his side.

“I’ve never said anything stupid ever,” Grantaire said with mock grandeur.

“You once told me cows were proof of alien contact.”

“You can’t prove that they weren’t.”

“No. We’re not having this fight again.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said politely and dropped the subject. He went back to pretending to work on his homework but in actuality, he spent the whole time subtly glancing at Enjolras. The problem was that he really was quite attractive - curly golden hair and a jawline that could cut glass. Grantaire told him too. True, it was in the middle of a string of insults, but Enjolras was gorgeous, even now when he seemed more uptight than ever. 

In the past five minutes, Enjolras hadn’t changed his position once. He kept just staring out the window, his back straight as a rod, and he was clearly putting a lot on effort on keeping even, deep breaths. Grantaire was starting to feel a bit of sympathy for the guy. You can’t argue with a man for two months and not feel a little bit fond of him.

“Fine,” Grantaire said breaking Enjolras out of his trance, “Outrageous statement: moon landing was faked,”

“We already had that argument. I stormed out of the room after you called me an elitist Daddy’s boy and an establishment bootlicker.”

“Oh, right,” Grantaire remembers calling Eponine gleefully afterward, but now all he felt was a bit of regret, “Sorry about that, by the way.” The strangest part? Grantaire actually meant it.

“It’s fine. I got you back,” Enjolras said, which he most certainly had. He made a comment about Grantaire setting himself up for being a deadbeat and that he already was one. Grantaire had spent the next hour at Eponine’s apartment shit-talking Enjolras.

“Okay, ridiculous thing to say: flowers are a form of oppression from the bourgeoisie.”

Enjolras just groaned in response, “No, it’s not as infuriating when you don’t mean it.”

“You think I actually mean any of the stuff I say to you?”

Enjolras looked at him incredulously, “Yeah? Why else would say it then?”

“To piss you off. You don’t understand how fun it is to get you riled up and arguing about things that matter so deeply to you and have no effect on me.”

“You’re telling me you don’t actually believe that Obama is secretly a part of the Reagan administration?”

Grantaire burst out laughing. Enjolras was being 100% serious, but once Grantaire started laughing, he started laughing too and soon they couldn’t stop. All the ridiculous arguments they ever had came bursting out.

“Remember when I said that books are made of mind control chemicals?”

“Or when you said that all teachers should be fired if they’re not hot?”

It was the kind of laughter where they would settle down and then Grantaire would say a single word and it’d start all over again. They laughed so hard they fell to the floor because it felt like the only stable thing in the room. Grantaire looked up at Enjolras at one point and realized he was smiling. Grantaire didn’t know if he had ever seen him smile, but it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It lit up his whole face and set Grantaire’s heart ablaze. 

As they sat on the floor tired from their antics, Enjolras spoke, “Man, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.”

Grantaire looked up at him. Their room was so small that when they both sat there, their legs touched. Grantaire didn’t mind though, and neither, so it seemed, did Enjolras. The world suddenly felt much smaller, much more manageable, and like it was theirs. It was just them and this tiny dorm room where anything felt possible.

“Do you want to talk about what’s really going on with you?” Grantaire asked him.

Enjolras let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his blond hair but surprisingly, he didn’t say no. “My dad keeps pressuring me about my classes and making sure that I’m making connections and kissing up to professors. My mom won’t stop asking me if I have a girlfriend or if there are any cute girls I have my eye on and how I’ll have my pick of girls when I get to law school. It just feels like they’re putting all their hopes on me to ignore what’s happening between them.”

“I’m sorry, Enjolras. It’s unfair that they’re putting you in the middle of that and putting so much stress on you. That’s hard to deal with.”

“It just feels like I have nowhere to turn to. My dad only wants to talk about school and my future career. My mom only wants to talk about relationships. Neither of them want to talk about my actual life or how I’m actually feeling. They just want good news so they can brag about me over Sunday brunch.”

Grantaire kicked him slightly so that Enjolras would look up at him. When he finally had those blue eyes locking on his, he felt his breath leave his body. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m right here in this disgustingly tiny dorm room.”

Enjolras smiled at him, small and personal, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Of course, what are enemy roommates for?”

Enjolras laughed slightly at that and then hauled himself into a standing position. The moment had ended, but something had shifted between them. Grantaire wasn’t going to stop trying to annoy him of course, but maybe he didn’t want him to move out just yet.

-

Making fun of Enjolras was actually a lot more fun when they’re friends. Grantaire started to love the things that used to infuriate him. Even their fights had turned almost sweet in a sense, because while Grantaire would yell at him and call him an elitist prick, it wasn't hateful or vengeful. It felt like Grantaire really wanted him to be better.

All of this however came with the unfortunate side effect that Grantaire started paying attention to Enjolras a lot. Not just the annoying things, but the cute ones too. The moments when Enjolras was downright adorable, like when he got hot chocolate with a million sprinkles or when he bought really nice fuzzy blankets for both of them.

But what Grantaire noticed the most, is that Enjolras is really fucking attractive. Logically, Grantaire always knew Enjolras was beautiful, but it was different somehow. Maybe because now those deep blue eyes were focused on him, or maybe because Enjolras had gotten more comfortable with being shirtless around him. Whatever the reason, it was getting sort of distracting. 

Suddenly Grantaire wasn’t fighting with Enjolras to get him out, but to keep him around. When they fought, the only thing in the world was the two of them. Sure, they were yelling obscenities at each other, but that hardly mattered to Grantaire. What mattered to him was how Enjolras’ eyes never left his and when Grantaire tried to walk away, he would grab his shoulder and pull him back in again. 

The first time this happened, Grantaire’s brain short circuited and he entirely forgot what he was even fighting about. Enjolras took this as a victory and has since then tried the same tactic multiple times. (Grantaire has yet to be as bold as to try it on Enjolras, but secretly, it’s his favorite of Enjolras' relentless argumentation skills).

It didn’t even occur to Grantaire that he had a crush until Eponine cut him off in the middle of his rant, “Look, I love you Grantaire, but this is the third fucking time you’ve called me about Enjolras today. You’re obsessed with this dude.”

“I am not obsessed with him,” Grantaire said defiantly, “If anything, he’s obsessed with me. He made room in his schedule for our arguments!”

“Yes, I know Grantaire. I know because this is the seventh time you told me. Call me when you face your feelings for him or you have something interesting to talk about,” Eponine then hung up the phone and left Grantaire to deal with that realization on his own.

Grantaire walked back to his dorm under the warm glow of the streetlamps. It was getting kind of late and really he should just get to bed, but when he came into the room Enjolras was playing his guitar and how could Grantaire sleep when there was the most enchanting music in the world was occurring two feet from his ear. 

When he walked in, Enjolras smiled. He’d been giving Grantaire a lot of these private smiles lately. They always made Grantaire want to stay in their little world of a dorm room just a minute longer. Enjolras put aside his guitar. 

“Don’t stop playing on my accord,” Grantaire said and then flopped himself onto the bed. Enjolras continued strumming for a moment and then stopped again. Grantaire looked over at him and thought he would look nervous, if Enjolras was capable of such an emotion.

“I um,” Enjolras started, “I got invited to this party. I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“Someone looked at you, heard you arguing about worker’s rights in Malaysia or whatever, and thought, ‘that’s the boy I want at my party,’” Grantaire asked.

“It was some girl from my econ class. I don’t know her that well. I’m not sure why she even invited me.”

Grantaire laughed, “Did she give you her number too?”

“She did so she could send me the details.”

This only made Grantaire laugh harder. Enjolras could be so clueless.

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“She’s into you. She wants to date you.”

“Oh,” Enjolras looked down at his hands, “I guess we shouldn’t go then.”

“Are you kidding me? Free alcohol? We’re going.”

Enjolras looked up at him and smiled, “Really?”

“Yeah. When is it?”

“8 o’clock.”

Grantaire looked at his phone, it was 8:34, “Well, I guess we should get going.”

“Right,” Enjolras stood up and was about to walk right out the door.

“Wait, we can’t just go out looking like this.”

Enjolras looked down at his outfit. He was wearing tight fighting black jeans and loose white button-up. 

“Well, you look fine,” Grantaire clarified, “I need to change.” Grantaire was wearing sweat pants and an old band t-shirt. It was hardly party wear.

Enjolras sat back down and got back to working on his song. Occasionally, he would sing a lyric under his breath and if liked it, he wrote it down in his journal. Grantaire changed into some jeans and a better shirt. He looked in the mirror and assessed himself. The outfit was fine, though nothing could really fix his face.

“How do I look?” He asked. Enjolras stared at him for a moment, tracking his eyes from his head to his toes, and swallowed.

“You look fine,” he said.

“Gee, thanks, E.”

“E?”

“It’s a nickname I’m trying out. What do you think?”

“I think that my name is Enjolras.”

“Yeah, whatever E. Are we going to the party or not?”

Enjolras stood up, “Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Enjolras and Grantaire walked across campus though they hardly noticed. They spent most of the walk debating the finer points of the reprivatization of the USSR. Twice their hands brushed and Grantaire pretended not to notice, but he definitely did. He definitely wanted to just grab it and hold it like Enjolras’ fingers belonged in his own, but instead, Grantaire ignored it and shouted about politics he didn’t really care about.

They got to the party and walked into a mess of sweaty, drunk bodies that chatted loudly and swayed to the music. Grantaire tried to yell to Enjolras but he couldn’t hear him so he just grabbed his arm and guided him to the kitchen. He poured them both a cup filled with half soda and half vodka and handed one to Enjolras. 

Enjolras took a sip and pulled a face, “What’s in this?”

“It’s not going to be a fun party if you’re sober,” Grantaire took his glass and tapped it to Enjolras, “Cheers to a good night.”

They both took a drink. At this moment a group of drunk girls poured into the kitchen and pushed into the two of them. Grantaire was shoved against Enjolras, who was himself shoved against the counter. The two of them looked at each other, and for a moment it felt like they were one. Grantaire quickly looked away.

An obnoxiously drunk girl stumbled up to Enjolras, “Ohmygod, you actually came! Omg, you must come with me,” the girl then grabbed Enjolras’ hand and dragged him off to the living room where the music was deafening and people were dancing on each other like nobody’s business. Grantaire just rolled his eyes, downed his drink, and poured himself another one.

He wandered through the party trying to find somewhere to sit that wasn’t surrounded by couples making out or single people sobbing. He ventured upstairs, walked around some blonde girl making out with some brown-haired boy, and found a bedroom where people were smoking. He recognized one of the boys from his history class and decided he might as well stay here.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac shouted and gestured for him to join the group on the bed, “This is my friend, Grantaire. He sits next to me in history and is the only reason I haven’t dropped the class.”

Grantaire laughed, “Thank Courf, it’s nice to meet everyone.” Everyone in the group nodded and then Courfeyrac passed him a joint, which Grantaire happily took a hit and then passed it to the person next to him. He spent the next hour or so like this, getting progressively more drunk and high. After a while, he needed to refill his drink so he went downstairs and made a drink that was mostly vodka with a splash of soda.

He went to make his way back upstairs, but he caught a glimpse of Enjolras talking some poor girl’s ear off about immigration reform and decided he needed to step in.

“Hey, Enjolras. Do you wanna come outside with me? I’ve heard the moon looks really pretty tonight.”

Enjolras looked up at him, “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t even give the girl a second thought, though it was honestly alright. It looked like she would rather die than continue that conversation.

Grantaire offered up his hand and Enjolras took it, but then he leaned in and said, “Could we go to the kitchen? I need another drink.”

Grantaire just nodded, his head too foggy to think about Enjolras’ breath on his neck or the way his fingers felt in his own. Grantaire found them the kitchen and he poured Enjolras another drink before dragging him out to the back porch.

He felt the cold air hit them the moment they came outside. Grantaire pulled his jacket around him and sat down on the steps. Enjolras sat down and scooted up next to him, “It’s so fucking cold,” he slurred. He was clearly pretty out of it.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, “but the stars are beautiful tonight.” 

“They’re not the most beautiful thing out here,” Enjolras said as he leaned into Grantaire.

“Oh, yeah? Then what is?” Grantaire whispered between them.

Instead of answering, Enjolras leaned and kissed Grantaire. It was sweet, slow, and everything Grantaire wanted it to be. Except for the fact that Enjolras was egregiously drunk. But at this moment, Grantaire wasn’t especially sober either so he didn’t mind much. He leaned into the kiss and let Enjolras’ hands find him.

They broke off after a moment and Grantaire looked up at the stars so that Enjolras wouldn’t see how much he was smiling. Beside him, Enjolras took a sip of his drink, checked his phone, and cursed, “We should get back to the dorm. I have a class in the morning.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said and stood up. He offered his hand to Enjolras who grabbed and together they left the party and started the walk back to their dorm hand in hand. 

When they finally found themselves at their shoebox of a room, Grantaire closed the door and Enjolras pressed into him. He gave Grantaire a small kiss, twirled one of his brown curls around his fingers, and laughed, “I’m so fucking drunk right now.”

Grantaire chuckled and responded, “Yes, you are, but so am I.” He gave the blonde boy another kiss and that led to Enjolras’ hands pressed against his chest as he backed up against the door.

When they finally broke apart, Enjolras let out a loud yawn, “I need to sleep,” he said lazily with a smile, and then walked away and passed out immediately on his bed. Grantaire let out a breath, climbed into his own bed and went to bed with a smile.

-

Grantaire woke up with a pounding headache and for a brief moment considered never drinking again, but then he remembered last night and Enjolras’ lips on his own. He remembered the warmth of the hands pressed against his chest. Any hangover was well worth it.

Grantaire took a shower and when he came back into the room, Enjolras was just waking up and he looked absolutely wrecked. “Remind me to never drink again,” he groaned.

“Yeah, you look like you need to drink some water.”

“Water and some Advil. I don’t even remember half of last night.”

Grantaire stopped in his tracks, “You don’t?”

“No,” Enjolras said casually, “Last thing I remember is talking to this girl about the finer points of immigration reform. Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” Grantaire said before he could even think about the repercussions of his actions. If Enjolras didn’t even remember, he probably didn’t mean to kiss him at all. It meant nothing. Enjolras was just drunk and lonely and Grantaire was there. 

“Well, that’s good,” said Enjolras as he checked the time, oblivious to Grantaire’s fallen expression, “I have a class so I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said as the boy he was hopelessly in love with walked straight out the door, “See ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i tried out a longer chapter with this one! i think I like it. anyway, special thanks to [avengingwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengingwinter/pseuds/avengingwinter) for this one. go check out her work!! she's amazing.
> 
> also, would you guys want my tumblr? let me know


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